


Monachopsis

by Help__Obsessed_Artist



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Brotherly Love, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Damian Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Good Big Brother Dick Grayson, Good Big Brother Jason Todd, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Loneliness, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Serious Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 12:50:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18571852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Help__Obsessed_Artist/pseuds/Help__Obsessed_Artist
Summary: Monachopsis: the subtle, persistent feeling of being out of place.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so... Angsty as hell guys. Im sorry.  
> (Tim is my fave but DC writes him poorly.) HC that Tim has an eidetic memory.
> 
> Also Jason and Dick are protective older brothers.

Five cups of coffee in and Tim had nothing to do. 

He had done everything; finished analyzing every open case file and drawing up theories, battle plans, recon missions. The one thing he was decidedly  _ good _ at. Now however, all he could to was wait for Bruce to check his data. To figure out everything Tim had done wrong and send him off to do it again. Tim didn't mind; it gave him something to do. 

He was the analyst, the tech Robin. He drew up plans, carefully plotting every person's route and missions after years of careful skill study. If he messed up, any injury would be on him. 

It had happened once. One miscalculation had given Damian a broken wrist and Bruce threatened to bench Tim if he ‘didn't get his act together’. A simple miscalculation is all it would take for him to kill his brothers. 

Tim frowned on that word. 

Dick called him that. Jason and Cass too, but more out of a teasing nature. 

But he wasn't. Not really. 

He was the unwanted one. The one Bruce never chose; only needed because Tim begged. 

His stomach twisted. 

Bruce never wanted him. Firing Tim wouldn't affect the family in the slightest. Maybe just give Bruce a little more work when drawing up plans. 

He needed something to do. 

Tim walked silently across the cave floor to the training mat, wrapping his fingers with tape. Alfred had instructed him he had to wear it while training. He had a tendency to keep punching till he split his skin. 

It wasn't on purpose. Tim's mind would reel, working faster and faster. Mind was separate from body at this time, and it was only after he was tired out that he noticed the bleeding. 

It made Dick worry. It made Damian laugh. 

Tim shook his head, positioning himself in front of the punching bag. It would still be another hour before anyone woke up; 6 am was too early to sleep anyway. Tim had never been a stranger to insomnia, but it was better he didn't tell Alfred or Bruce that he hadn't slept in three days. 

He could sacrifice sleep to ensure the others’ safety. He didn't care. 

Tim began the familiar pattern of jabs he had learned from Jason as his mind started to drift. He decided to refocus on the data he had just gone over. An eidetic memory was a blessing and a curse. 

Penguin was quiet, normal for this time of year, but the last five years showed a trend of activity spiking in the next month. He had reported that, he remembered. Joker was sporadic, it was almost impossible to predict when his next attack on the city would be. Tim had drawn up three possible locations, going by most to least predictable. 

Bruce was going to say it was sloppy. 

Two-Face and Riddler were both active, in separate parts of town. The patrol groups would need to split up. Batman, Red Robin and Batgirl would take on Riddler, Robin, Nightwing, Red Hood and Signal could handle Two-Face. That was fine. 

Bruce might change the teams again. He tended to do that if he was feeling particularly cold towards a member of the family. 

He'd probably tell Signal to switch with him. 

Tim didn't care. 

He couldn't afford to. Not in this line of work. Emotion, any at all, was suicide. 

Dick would say that was stupid. 

But Tim was already a master at it. 

The Drake's were not a loving family. They never had been. His mother had been ‘humiliated’ by him more than once, and Tim couldn't remember his father ever smiling at him. 

Whatever. 

Loving family wasn't exactly on Tim's bucket list of things to get before he died. 

_ A lie _ . 

He punched the bag harder. 

It wasn't important. 

It wasn't important.

He wasn't important. 

_ Why? _

Why wasn't he important? Why didn't his mother praise him? Or his father love him? 

Was it just the way he was? Just a thing no one really liked; something no one bothered with until someone needed to feel a little better about themselves? 

Jason often joked that he looked like he would just drop dead one day. His body would just give up. He was scrawny, with dark circles under his eyes and pale skin. His breath perpetually smelled like dark roast and he was probably the weakest Robin. 

He couldn't fuck up at the one thing he was decidedly  _ good _ at.

Was he good at it…?

He had hurt Damian with that misstep. 

Maybe, he wasn't as good as he thought. 

Was it possible that Bruce altered his plans all the time and Tim just didn't notice? 

No. Tim had a photographic memory. He would notice. 

He would notice. 

He had to notice. 

Wouldn't he? 

Was it possible he wouldn't want to? 

He was still learning; Bruce would say that. Put that small smile on his face and say it was okay that Tim wasn't perfect every time. 

But it wasn't OK. 

He needed it to be perfect. 

Then maybe, just maybe, his mother wouldn't be so-

_ Wait _ . 

Janet Drake was dead. 

She hadn't even known he was Robin. She would never know. 

Why did he care what she thought now? Why did it matter? 

Because… 

Was it because he had never been good enough for her? For his father? 

If he was perfect, then he could still stand to call himself Drake. As awful as the name sounded to him, there was a sense of honor and pride in bearing it. 

If he wasn't perfect, if he ever misstepped again… 

Tim didn't know what he'd do. 

He hated them. 

He hated them with every fiber of his being. He had been worthless to them in life, and now they haunted him in death. 

He couldn't relax. 

Everything had to be perfect. 

Perfect. 

Perfect. 

Perfect. 

Perfect. 

Perfect. 

That word was sour against his chest, against his brain. It was all he could think, over and over and over. Every punch to the bag brought the word back. It seemed to hit him in the chest every time. He punched harder, trying to snuff it out. To crush it. 

But it kept. 

Coming.

Back. 

_ Stop!  _

Tim blinked. 

That wasn't him. 

That word had come from somewhere else. Somewhere outside his spiraling brain. 

His eyes refocused. 

Dick was there, holding his wrists with an iron grip. He forgot how strong the eldest boy was sometimes; he was always so gentle. 

Oh. 

Dick was speaking to him. 

He wasn't listening. 

“What?” The word came out choked between heavy breaths and Tim cringed at the sound. 

“What the hell Tim, you tryin’ to knock your hands off?!” Oh. Jason was there too. He glanced at his other brother. 

“Huh?” 

Dick spoke again, his voice was sharp and prickly with concern that twisted Tim's stomach. “How long have you been doing this?!” 

Tim looked down at his hands. 

Oh. 

The tape on his hands was torn and falling off, no longer willing to stick. Blood was oozing slowly down his forearms, dripping onto the mat. 

There was barely a spill. 

He was fine. 

Their concern was misplaced. 

“Tim! Answer me!” Dick's voice was more commanding now, his grip tightening as he jerked Tim's attention back up to him. 

Tim looked at the clock. 

7:45. 

Crap. 

“I'm fine.” 

“Like hell you are.” Jason's voice was a growl. Tim remembered all those times the other boy tried to kill him. Would anything be different if Jason had succeeded all those years ago? He has used that same voice all those times too. Tim didn't like it. 

“My mind got away from me.” Tim mumbled and he tried to rip his hands from Dick’s hold. 

“No way Timothy, we are wrapping your hands  _ now _ . Then you're going to tell us what the hell is going on.” 

“Nothing is going on.” Tim repeated vacantly. 

“Really.” Jason's words were a doubtful snort and he stepped closer. “Then why the fuck were you muttering the word ‘perfect’ like you were an Arkham patient,  _ Timbo _ ?” 

Tim moved before he knew what was going on. He had ripped his hands from Dick's hold and thrown a punch at Jason. 

The older boy caught his wrist. 

Tim tried to hide the pain at the contact unsuccessfully. 

Jason was staring at him, eyes wide with shock and concern. 

Tim hated that look. 

He stared at the mat. 

“‘M sorry…” He mumbled. 

Jason let go. 

“Tim…” Dick's voice was quiet now. “What’s going on…?” 

“It's not important.” 

_I'm_ _not important_. 

“If it's forcing you to hurt yourself, I'd say it fucking  _ is _ .” The voice was gone. Back to normal Jason. 

Tim was silent, staring at the mat. The older boys must have known to be patient at the time, that it was hard to form the words. 

“You know I didn't cry when my mom died…?” Tim looked up. Jason blinked and Dick stared at him. “I know you guys did. When your moms died. It probably tore your hearts out huh?” 

They didn't respond. 

“The thing is… The thing is that I was already empty. That place… That place in your chest where love is supposed to go? I didn't have any of that. So I didn't feel anything when she died. Nothing.” 

He heard something drop onto the mat and he opened his eyes, expecting more drops of blood. But it wasn't. 

Oh… 

He was crying now. He gave a half chuckle.  _ Now _ he cries. 

Somehow, the words kept coming though, his voice was steady despite this foreign emotion. 

“I always humiliated her. Every important event, every stupid party, she would leave with a scowl and say I disappointed her. I didn't know how, but I did. Guess that was my talent. Is it possible to be a family disappointment when you're barely apart of a family?” 

Tim didn't expect them to answer. Not that question anyway. He wanted them to answer his next one. 

“Why are you here?” 

“What?” Jason's voice came out croaky, and Tim was almost shocked by it. Almost. 

“Why are you here; why did Bruce adopt you?” 

Both men were quiet. Dick sighed after a couple seconds of silence. 

“He… Saw that we were in bad situations, and he took us in…” 

Tim nodded through more stupid tears. 

Stupid. Why was he crying? He didn't even feel sad. 

...Did he? 

Was this what sad felt like? 

Tim continued, “I didn't get that. I forced Bruce to take me on as Robin. I had a family. And now I'm kept around because I've got nothing else.” 

“Tim…” The eldest reached out to touch his face, but Tim flinched back, eyes screwing shut for a moment before he could stop it. He opened his eyes, feeling suddenly foolish. Would his father's influence ever leave? 

Dick sounded utterly heartbroken. “You  _ have _ to know that's not true…” 

“How do you know?” Tim's eyes refused to leave the mat, focused on that tiny pool of blood. 

Stupid,  _ stupid _ Tim. Couldn't control his emotions, and now all his secrets were spilling out. 

He wanted to stop telling them things. 

...Didn't he? 

He should…

But the words kept coming. 

“I have one job here, and if I fuck it up, everyone dies.” Tim’s voice was a hollow whisper now. “If I make one miscalculation, its over. That death is on me. I can't live with that… I won't live with it.” 

Jason let out a long breath. Was it to steady himself? Prepare himself to talk? 

Tim looked up. His brother's face was pale and the outline of his eyes was red. 

_ Why… _ ? 

“You're forgetting something important here Timbo. For a guy with a perfect memory, I gotta say, I'm shocked.” 

Tim blinked. 

“You seem to forget that we're a team. We're all in this shit. If we get caught in a corner, it's up to ourselves and each other to get out. You can't predict the future, okay? You can't be sure that every goddamn thing is going to go according to plan; that there's not one extra thug with a gun who could get us. People die every day. But we have each other's backs. In and out of costume.” 

Tim's gaze fell again. 

Dick was taking his wrists again, his grip much softer this time. Normal Dick. 

“Can I get you cleaned up now, Timmy…?” Tim sniffed, wiping his nose with his arm and smearing blood on his face. He heard Jason let out a snort. 

“Yeah… Okay…”

“Thank you. Walk with me, okay?” Dick's tone was calculated and calm, the same as when he pulled Damian out of a nightmare. It was there to not risk spooking him. Tim was done crying by the time they reached the medical area of the cave. Jason grabbed a sweat rag to mop up the blood while Dick helped him onto a gurney. 

“Sorry.” Tim said suddenly and Dick looked up. 

“What for?” 

“I shouldn't have done that. Shouldn't have bothered you with those things…” 

Dick was silent as he grabbed the medical kit and Tim's eyes stayed trained on his bloody hands. 

“There's nothing to apologize for Tim. I'm not mad.” 

“I am.” Jason called and Dick flipped him off. “What?! I'm not mad at  _ him _ ! I mad at this shit situation!” 

“Stop talking!” Dick hissed over his shoulder. He sighed, gently taking one of Tim's hands and removing the torn taping. “He's right though… I'm not mad at you. I'm a little upset about this,” He tapped Tim's palm and the boy swallowed. “But I was never angry with you. You can always come to me, Tim. Me or Jason. Even Bruce. I can't promise we'll always understand.” Dick moved his hands up to cup his little brother's cheeks and pull his face up. 

“But we're your  _ family _ , Tim. We're always here to listen. And we'll try to help wherever we can.” 

“And I,” Jason walked up, tossing the bloody rag in the sink, “am going to do my part by training with you. Can't let you muddle around in that brain for too long. Cause if I ever see  _ that _ again, I might have to kick your ass to Metropolis.” 

Tim smiled slightly, wincing as Dick disinfected his hands. 

“Yeah… Not my best move.” 

“Nope.” Jason crossed his arms, waiting patiently for Dick to finish up. 

The eldest patted his leg, satisfied with the wrapping and Jason rubbed his hands together. 

“Alright Timmy, let's go.” 

Tim squeaked as he was tossed over a shoulder, legs pinned under Jason's arm. 

“What the-?! Jason! Dick! Help!!” 

Dick laughed, trailing behind them. 

“Sorry Tim, but Alf told us you haven't slept in three days. We were sent down here to take you to bed by force. You have three options: you go to sleep willingly, we sedate you, or Jason and I will cuddle you until you fall asleep.” 

“What?!” 

“There's no getting away from this, Timbo!” Jason called, punching the elevator button. “Better decide quick or I'll just sit on you till you pass out.” 

Tim crossed his arms. “Traitors…”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim's breakdown forces his family to take action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyy, I didn't plan on writing another chapter, but I felt it needed some closure and a happy ending.  
> Anywho, now we get to see how Tim's family will react to his breakdown.

“He did it again! It was the worst this time!”

Dick threw open the door to his father's office, already venting after assuring his little brother had fallen asleep. Jason offered to stay in the room in case Tim woke up with less that 8 hours of rest. Bruce frowned, looking up.

“Who?”

“Tim! He did that… that _thing_ where he just keeps hitting! You should have seen it Bruce!” The eldest sighed, plopping down in a chair and burying his face into his hands. His next words were choked. “There was so much blood, B… Jason and I went down there and he was… he kept _punching_. He kept muttering the word ‘perfect’, like he was angry at it.” Dick looked up, his eyes glistening. “I don't… I don't know what to do…”

Bruce's face was the closest to shock Dick had ever seen. “He was _hurting himself_ , B… And I don't think he even realized he was _doing it_.”

A low ‘hum’ rumbled from his dad's chest and Dick's face twisted into a furious frown. He stood up fast.

“Do you even _care_?!”

Bruce blinked, “What? Of course I do, Dick.”

“You didn't _see_ him! He must have been punching that bag for _hours_ ; I thought he broke his hands! And all you can do is look at me and _grunt_ ?! If you saw the way he was hurting himself, the way that he was _muttering_ , you wouldn't be sitting up here doing nothing!!! He's your kid!”

Bruce was standing now, posture and voice still calm, but his jaw tight. Ever the robot. “I know he's my son, Dick. So are you.”

Dick huffed, his hands shaking. He was furious and scared, and more than that, Dick was angry his father _wasn't_ furious and scared.

“He doesn't _think_ he's your son.”

Bruce's eyes widened at this. “What...?”

“Tim doesn't think you love him. He doesn't think you even _wanted_ him! I don't know where he got such a messed up idea, but my little brother is _hurting_ himself and you're the only one who I can ask for help!” Dick had started crying at some point, his chest heaving. Every time he closed his eyes, his little brother was crying, blood dripping onto his bare feet.

Bruce had moved to embrace him, and Dick clutched his shirt, punching his chest half-heartedly a couple times. His dad reached up to card fingers through his hair.

“I don't know what to do either…” Bruce admitted with a sigh, a hollowness to his voice that made Dick pull back to stare at him. “When Tim started working as Robin, I was in a bad place. He already had a home, so he was only around as a partner. I didn't know _how_ to treat him… And maybe it was my fault for not seeing him as a son sooner.”

“It _is_ your fault.” Dick mumbled, burying his face back into Bruce's chest as the man sighed.

“I didn't think it was my place to act as his father. He already had one.”

“A shitty one...”

“Jack… Had his faults, yes. But it wasn't obvious that he wasn't acting like a father to Tim either. Not until later did I realize just how alienated the Drakes had made their son.”

Dick choked out another sob, his body shaking violently, “I don't want h-him to feel alienated with us Bruce… I'm his big brother, I-I-I,” Dick's voice hitched at every attempt to make a sentence and Bruce shushed him.

“Its okay Dick… We'll figure this out… Promise.”

* * *

Damian eyed the bandages on Drake's hands later that evening, after he woke up from his forced slumber. Drake blew on his coffee, glancing at his little brother.

“What?”

“You did it again.”

Drake was silent. Damian scowled. He wouldn't admit he was worried. Grayson did enough worrying for everyone.

“What are you trying to prove, Drake?”

“I'm not trying to prove _anything_ , Demon. Leave me alone.” Drake's voice was tired and croaked, making Damian's stomach flip slightly. Drake had always been sort of emotionless, taking after Father with calculated reasoning taking president over emotion. It irritated Damian that he couldn't _read_ the older boy's emotions easily. Not when he wasn't angry.

“Tt. Absurd. You wouldn't go through all the trouble of running yourself into the ground simply by accident.”

The coffee mug shattered as Drake slammed it on the table. Hot coffee splashed on his skin but he was standing, seeming not to notice. Damian hadn't blinked at the outburst.

Drake looked like he was searching for words, looking for something to say and Damian held his breath.

Drake deflated suddenly, turning to grab a rag. The smaller boy's face twisted in annoyance.

“Tt. And they call _me_ a child.”

Damian was picked up by the collar of his shirt and he kicked, head twisting around to see the second eldest holding him aloft.

“Unhand me Todd!”

“What did you do to Tim’s cup, brat?” Todd retorted.

“I did nothing! That fool broke the cup of his own volition, now _put me down_!”

“What's going on? I heard a crash.” Grayson entered the kitchen from the foyer, frowning at the scene. Drake cleaning up a broken mug and a squirmy Damian held up by Todd.

Before he could ask again, Todd was tossing Damian's small frame over to the eldest brother, ignoring Damian's cry of surprise. Grayson caught him easily.

“Talk to the kid. I gotta rewrap Timmy's hands.”

Todd grabbed their other brother's shoulder, steering him away from the mess as Grayson set Damian down, kneeling in front of him.

“Dami?” The smaller boy pouted, crossing his arms so tightly over his chest he almost restricted his own breathing. Grayson ducked further to catch his eyes. “Little D, what happened?”

“Nothing.”

“I don't believe that.”

Damian pressed the air through his teeth with the familiar sound Grayson associated with him hiding his emotions. “Tt. Drake simply overreacted. I expected him to lash out.”

“Why did you make him angry Dami?”

Damian huffed furiously, still refusing to meet his brother's gaze.

“It is the more tolerant of his emotions.”

“Anger? Rather than what?”

“No emotions. Its unreadable. And infuriating.”

“Timmy just gets like that. You know this.”

“Drake is a fool.”

“The thing with his hands was an accident.” Grayson sighed, his hands brushing the younger's arms. It was something he did often; a physical version of Grayson requesting Damian to open up (figuratively and literally).

Damian relaxed slightly but still kept his arms tight around his abdomen.

“That is not what I am referring to, Grayson. Drake is a fool because he is oblivious to the weight of his own actions.”

Grayson blinked. “What do you mean?”

Damian huffed, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I am not blind; I can see that he does not think he has done enough. It's why he does these idiotic things such as feign rest. It is bothersome.”

“You're… irritated that Timmy has low self-esteem?”

“Of course. He was Robin before me. My predecessor should not be so easily victimized by something as simple as self-esteem.”

Grayson smiled smally, clearly pleased that Damian thought so highly of Drake, but he sighed, putting his hands on the boy's shoulders.

“That's not exactly something that's easily controlled, kiddo. Do you know what depression is?”

“Tt. Of course. Its a chemical imbalance in one's brain.”

“Exactly. It's hard for Timbo to be confident sometimes because it's affecting his brain. He tries, all people with depression do, but some days are worse than others. I think it's really sweet you care about him,” Damian scowled, “but making him upset isn't going to help anyone. Understand?”

“... Fine.”

Damian looked up, finally meeting his brother's eyes and he frowned. “You've been crying Grayson.”

Grayson sighed again. “You're not the only who feels helpless against this whole situation. Now come on, help me clean this up and dispose of the evidence before Alfred sees it.”

* * *

“Burns after cutting your knuckles probably wasn't the best thing, huh?” Tim cringed, glaring at Jason over the stinging in his hands. His older brother sighed. “I get it. Short Stack can be a real brat sometimes.”

Jason was pretty much talking to himself in the cave at this point. Tim hadn’t said much of anything to him after the incident that morning.

Jason glanced at his brother, frowning. Tim was staring at the floor, eyes unfocused and the man could practically _see_ the gears turning in his head.

“Timbo.” Jason prodded him hard in the ribs and the boy flinched, finally making eye contact. “You with me?”

The boy cleared his throat. “Yeah, sorry…”

Jason eyed him carefully before turning his attention back to the wrapping. “What's on your mind?”

“Nothing…”

“Didn't seem like nothing this mornin-”

“ _Stop_.” Tim cut him off hastily and Jason blinked. “I don't… wanna talk about it anymore…”

The elder boy sucked in a breath before nodding, fingers careful on Tim's broken skin.

There were several minutes of heavy silence before Jason was done.

Tim moved to pull away but Jason didn't let go of his wrists. There was a slight glint to the elder boy's eyes when Tim looked up to question him.

“I want you to try something.”

“Huh? Try what?” Tim frowned as Jason's smile grew wider. Before Tim could voice another question, he was being pulled off the gurney and steered to face the deepest part of the Batcave.

Jason stood beside him, arms crossed and smirking. He nodded his head at the large dark area.

“Go on.”

“What???” Tim was very confused now. What could Jason possibly be hinting at? The man sighed.

“Scream as loud as you can at the darkest part of the cave.”

“What? Why?”

Jason nudged his shoulder playfully. “Humor me, smartass. It helps. I used to do it when I was a broody teenager too.”

“I'm not broody.” Tim argued.

“Uh huh. And I'm Santa. Look, just do it. Channel all that rage at-” Tim shot him a look, “-the… _thing_ we're not talking about, and just fucking yell.”

“It'll alert everyone.”

“Cave's soundproofed Tim, you know that. We're basically in a mountain. Just do it.”

“... Fine.”

Tim sighed deeply, squinting at the dark cave ridges. Heat flooded his cheeks with embarrassment but he swallowed it.

He took in a breath, and let out a yell.

Jason grinned beside him as several bats fluttered in the disturbance.

“Come on, Timbo. Louder!”

Tim gritted his teeth. He had never raised his voice. He didn't know if he even _could_ yell much louder. Even so, he took a deep breath, screwing his eyes shut, and screaming as loud as he could. All the rage at his parents, all his doubts, all the emptiness had seem to build in his chest. And now he was forcing it out in a cry of defiance. Defiance against his parents, against their rules to be perfect and unfeeling, against everything that they ever made him feel that was short of happiness.

Tim pushed it all out in a scream that made him light-headed when he ran out of air. All the bats were flapping rapidly through the cave, like their echolocation was rebooting and Jason let out a loud holler beside him, slinging an arm over his shoulder.

Tim smiled, a large grin finding its way onto his face for the first time in a while.

* * *

Tim cringed as he slipped the black gloves of his uniform over the bandages on his hands. His mind was reeling, filing through all the combat knowledge he had without punches. He was grateful he could fight with his bow staff, otherwise Red Robin would be reduced to kicking attacks.

“Tim. Can I talk to you?” Bruce had moved to stand beside him soundlessly and Tim nodded, swallowing. He prepared himself for the disappointed lecture he would receive as he followed Bruce to a more secluded part of the Cave, away from the chatter of the rest of the team.

Tim stared hard at the ground, waiting. He knew Bruce disapproved. He shouldn't have let his emotions get the better of him. He was injured, and would thus affect the mission. Everyone else would be picking up his slack until he was healed.

“You know, when I first broke my knuckles, I was thirteen.”

Tim looked up in surprise. Bruce was leaned against a wall, staring up at the bats fluttering around the cave as he continued.

“It hurt like hell. Alfred scolded me for months about it because I couldn't even hold a spoon until they had healed.”

Tim shifted his gaze to the floor, still listening.

“I didn't understand why he had been so worried at the time. It wasn't his hands that were broken. I was the one who made the decision to take my anger out on a tree. I thought I was being mature by channeling my anger out instead of suffering in silence.”

Tim swallowed, quelling his rising emotions expertly and trying to figure out why Bruce was telling him this.

“It wasn't until I got some kids of my own, that I understood. I worried about Dick constantly. He was always throwing himself off of the railings and swinging on the chandeliers.”

“He still does.” Tim said quietly, and Bruce chuckled.

“That's true. Alfred acted like a father when I didn't have one, and only now do I understand everything he went through with me. I made mistakes constantly. I yelled at him, fired him at one point. But he always welcomed me back, because he knew I wasn't perfect.”

Tim's chest tightened at the word but he said nothing.

“I've made a lot of mistakes recently too,” Bruce continued, eyes settling on the boy. “One of the biggest ones was not treating you like the son I should have.”

Tim's eyes snapped up to stare at him, mouth open, but no words coming out.

Bruce smiled small, but his eyes looked pained with regret. “I considered you my son the second I started training you, but I didn't show it. I didn't think it was my place to act as your father in place of Jack.” Bruce moved to stand in front of him, hands on his shoulders. “Tim, I'm truly sorry that I realized too late what you needed. You were my partner first, but that wasn't fair. You deserved to have been a _son_ first. Just like your brothers.”

Tim blinked rapidly, turning his head to look at the wall. He couldn't cry, not in front of Bruce. But his father moved a hand to his chin and guided his gaze back to his own.

“You're my son, Tim. You don't have to be perfect, or right every time. I'm here to help you every step of the way. Because you're my kid, and I love you.”

Tim broke.

He completely shattered, shaking with quiet sobs as his father pulled him into a bear hug. A warm, bone-crushing, kind-of-awkward-with-armor-on, hug. Tim latched onto him, crying into Bruce’s chest.

“I l-love you too, dad.” He managed to whisper.

Tim didn't know how long they stayed like that; they would probably be late for patrol now. But he couldn't find it in himself to care.

Finally, he managed to stop crying and he wiped his face hurriedly, sniffing to clear a stuffy nose.

Bruce ruffled his hair, smirking.

“Ready?”

“Yeah. Let's go.”


End file.
